


The Still of the Night

by levitatethis



Category: Heroes - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-23
Updated: 2009-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months after the events of <a href="http://levitatethis.livejournal.com/62743.html">In Transit</a>, Mohinder meets Dean and Sam</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Still of the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In Transit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/56917) by [levitatethis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/levitatethis/pseuds/levitatethis). 



_“…You can’t trust freedom   
When it’s not in your hands   
When everybody’s fighting   
For their promised land.” _   
**-Guns and Roses, _Civil War_ **

 

Mohinder smiles appreciatively as the waitress pours him a second cup of coffee. She offers him a tired, if unresponsive, one in return and moves on to another diner calling out to her. He redirects his gaze out the window to his left at the motel next door. Thoughtfully, distractedly, he raises the mug to his mouth, resting the rim against his lips for a couple of seconds then takes a tiny sip.

He knew two hours earlier that he would be getting little sleep and now at one thirty in the morning he is thankful enough to be out of the motel. Besides the painful memories that staying in a random, run of the mill, seemingly frozen in the 1950s of middle America, motel digs up he is still trying to get a handle on what exactly is going on.

Holding the mug mid air he stares at the door to the Winchesters room. Given the night they have all had they are just as likely to be discussing his mental state, as they are to be sleeping. He focuses on their room and lets out an exhausted sigh.

“It is good you came, Mohinder.”

He tries not to roll his eyes as he meets Castiel’s steady gaze. The angel sitting across from him still looks ragged and unkempt, with his arms resting across the top of the table, his hands pressed palms down.

“I think we have two different definitions of good,” Mohinder says.

Castiel’s brow is deeply lined as if a multitude of thoughts are fighting for prominence below. “He is…surprised and worried. But he will do the right thing.”

Mohinder puts his mug down and leans back in his seat. The movement allows him to adjust the angle with which he takes in this strange being who first surprised him during a layover in Schiphol Airport four months earlier. He looks the exact same, and Mohinder wonders if the body that an angel inhabits ever ages and if there is a reason why he does not change his clothes. In his slightly disheveled state Castiel does not appear concerned with such trivialities (making Mohinder feel unconscionably superficial) and Mohinder is unexpectedly fascinated by his casual indifference _and_ authority.

Add in his still strangely mannered way of speaking—slow, lowly rumbled, precise—and Mohinder’s mind jettisons to the nearly indisputable fact that he tends to attract those characters that make up the fringe of human experience, rare to be seen, outside of normalcy, yet with the balance of the world in their grasp.

“He was angry,” Mohinder says.

“He was defensive,” Castiel clarifies, lowering his head forward while holding their gaze steady for emphasis.

“It could have gone better.” Mohinder runs his right hand through his hair and scratches the back of his head. “I thought you had spoken to them about me before?”

Castiel opens his mouth but says nothing at first, formulating his chosen words very carefully. “I spoke of you in theory, a nameless man who would join their side.”

“You spoke of me as some abstraction,” Mohinder is quick to counter, leaning forward and jabbing his right index finger against the table.

“I told them what they needed to know. Your name was only meant to be revealed once you met them.”

Mohinder throws his right arm into the air dismissively and scoffs in irritation as he sits back. Castiel narrows his eyes in curiosity at the frustrated gesture. Half annoyed amusement and half at a loss, Mohinder says, “Why am I under the impression that we put a lot of faith in your words with little guarantee on the return?”

“Faith,” Castiel draws out the word and manages to turn a single syllable into an irrefutable fact and he drops his eyes to the table then back up to Mohinder. “Is inexplicable belief that there is a purpose to everything.”

“Well that changes everything. It makes this all so much easier to understand.”

At the blatant sarcasm, Castiel looks out the window and Mohinder studies his profile. The severity of his concern is etched in the lines that never seem to leave his face. It would be easy to write him off as overwhelmed by his own importance but the intensity of his gaze on the Winchesters door, and the way he was firm yet oddly open in reaction to the barrage of attitude and demanding questions that greeted his bringing Mohinder a handful of hours earlier, tells Mohinder that Castiel is more personally involved than he should be.

Mohinder wonders what it is that connects Castiel so strongly to Dean. He is also silently jealous—that type of strong willed devotion is rare in this world and to see it between others stokes a most basic human want.

“It will be better tomorrow. I need you to stay the course.” Castiel’s tone is firm.

Mohinder knows his life is only going to get more surreal, confused and frightening from this point on. They have barely leaped yet. All of them are still peering over the edge of the cliff.

“I’m here aren’t I?” Mohinder takes a sip of coffee and follows Castiel’s gaze out the window.

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ********** **

 

Mohinder’s introductory meeting with Sam and Dean Winchester got off to a less than stellar start. They were obviously nonplussed to return to their motel room only to find Castiel waiting inside with a stranger. As Castiel maneuvered between the two opposing factions, Mohinder had watched the quizzical and skeptical stares that sized him up. Castiel’s explanation for his presence should have sounded farfetched and fantastical if it were not for the absurd reality they found themselves in.

Truth was indeed stranger than fiction.

The brothers, dressed in a nearly identical uniform of blue jeans, black boots and loosely fit shirts (the notable difference being that where Sam wore a black sports jacket, Dean wore a dark brown leather one), had looked at Mohinder with uncensored reservation and unconcealed disbelief, causing Mohinder to bite back a retort about them being in no position to judge him considering what passed for normal in their lives.

Observant by nature, he noticed the way they complimented each other and contemplated if he and Shanti might have been the same had fate unfolded differently. Sam, the taller and younger brother, gave the impression of being more easily friendly. He was the first one to shake Mohinder’s hand (after a quick questioning glance at his brother) and purposely situated himself between them in an approachable yet guarded manner. His questions gave him away as the more academically minded of the two. Although he could not completely grasp the details of Mohinder’s work, he understood the general ideas and centered in on the theoretical aspects.

Dean, the sight of the protective and independent older brother, stayed back physically, but struck with pointed words. Definitely the street-smart sibling, it was not that he was rude, rather discerning and judgmental of a new person in his midst. His interests were practical, wanting to know the precise toll that the serum would take on his body and how long it would last, what it would allow him to do. He wanted tangible facts with little care for the awe of the fantastical elements. Mohinder could see in his unflinching stare that he his mind was running through the literal possibilities.

When he was not glaring at Mohinder (and Mohinder had survived worse scrutiny which kept him from faltering under another unimpressed gaze) he was having silent conversations using just his eyes with Sam or demanding Castiel clarify what was coming down the pipeline.

Watching the three of them now, Mohinder cannot help but laugh to himself at the irony. He has gone from a life where he is relegated to the sidelines despite being able to provide valuable information while being of crucial help to yet another life where he is basically in the same position. They all look at him as if suddenly remembering he is there. Mohinder folds his arms across his chest as Dean breaks from the pack and steps towards him.

“So what, you’re going to go all Dr. Frankenstein on me and shoot me up with some mutant superhero strength?” Dean asks in a vaguely belligerent tone but Mohinder detects nervousness beneath the bravado.

Mohinder glances at Castiel who is looking at Dean with concern. “It’s not quite that sordid, but, in a nutshell, yes.”

“That’s incredible.” Sam’s face relaxes with the onset of a crooked smile.

“It’s nuts,” Dean counters and pushes further into Mohinder’s space.

Mohinder refuses to acquiesce even an inch and holds firm to where he is. Castiel remains in his position where he can maintain eye contact with Mohinder over Dean’s left shoulder. Sam stands a few feet behind Dean’s right shoulder and throws his hands in the air, shaking his head at his brother’s refusal to budge. Turning his back to everyone, Sam walks towards the door but stops short and turns around, placing his hands on his hips and pressing his lips into a tight line.

“That too,” Mohinder admits and rests his unblinking eyes on Dean. This situation is serious enough that he needs to remain cool yet adamant. “But it’s not outside the realm of possibility.”

He uses his left hand to lift the shoulder strap of his messenger bag up and over his head. Keeping his eyes clasped with Dean’s, he slowly moves forward and around his right side, making eye contact with Sam as he crosses the floor space between them, and places his bag on the bed furthest from the front door. He can sense all their eyes on him as he lifts the cover flap up and reaches inside for the metal container that holds two syringes, one empty and the other filled with a recently tampered (and hopefully improved) sample of the serum.

“And he can guarantee this will work?”

Mohinder looks up at Dean asking Castiel’s approval for the untried experiment.

“This is what needs to happen,” Castiel says flatly, but each word is spoken with deliberation.

“There’s no such thing as a sure thing,” Mohinder says at the same time.

Dean, his brow wrinkled and eyes pinched into a glare, fixes Mohinder in his crosshairs. “And I’m supposed to roll up my sleeves and play guinea pig?”

“I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seems,” Sam calls out to diffuse the rising tension but it does not work.

“Really, Sammy? Are you hearing the same thing I am?” Dean demands.

Sam’s long strides carry him away from the door until he is once again between Dean and Mohinder in the center of the room. “Excuse me if I want to believe that Dr. Suresh being here is a good thing for us. It’s another person to help.” He sighs in exasperation and nods his head at Mohinder encouragingly.

Mohinder, metal case in his left hand, stares at Sam’s suddenly lonely figure. He considers the toll taken on them that has led to this obviously difficult and potentially tragic precipice. As close as the Winchesters are there is also a disconnect between them, a strain that goes beyond their approaches and is rooted deeper in their psychology. He can tell they would do anything for each other but the question still remains, what has already been done that they have not told the other about?

Mohinder understands secrets all too well. No matter what, they always manage to come undone. That does not mean he thinks that lies are the preferred policy but that when the truth undoubtedly comes out one must have the will and the constitution to weather the storm.

“Look,” Mohinder says firmly but softly. “No one is getting injected with anything tonight.” He ignores the surprised look, by way of a half parted mouth refusing to allow words to spill forth, on Castiel’s normally impassive face.

“I will not do anything you are not willing to do.” He levels Dean with an unwavering gaze. “But you need to know that I am here because Castiel believes I can be of help to you.”

Mohinder takes a deep breath and moves a few tentative steps forward. “Like you I’ve seen things that would awe, and shock, the minds of most. I have scientific proof of evolved humans. I have seen some use their abilities for good, to help others. And I have seen those who would put their selfish wants above everything else, at the expense of other lives. This battle you’re fighting is not the only one. There are others.”

Mohinder shakes his head and holds out the metal case. “I don’t know that this is the answer or if this still needs fine tuning to ensure what ability it is you get that will aid you, but given what you face, would you not consider taking the chance?”

The silence that greets Mohinder turns his stomach. It is unsettling. He has no idea if his words have made any impact of they see him as nothing more than a mad scientist. He is not sure he would blame them on either front.

“Would you inject yourself?” Dean asks and the downward shift of his eyes suggests his own resistance is faltering, possibly tired from the fight he has drawn out, an extension of expectations, not necessarily authentic defiance.

Mohinder hesitates and catches Castiel’s pushing down on him crushingly with a stern stare. Castiel moves to Dean’s side.

“Yes.” Mohinder looks from one to the other. “I have.”

Surprise is apparent in Dean’s widening eyes and the way he reactively jerks his head back. But it is Sam who asks, “And?”

Embarrassed at what he still is uncomfortable admitting, Mohinder brings the metal case close to his body and considers what the contents represent. Acknowledging Sam, he quietly says, “I’ve paid a steep price.”

“One that was necessary,” Castiel states.

“Yeah, I don’t think he feels the same way,” Dean jokes and rolls his eyes.

“Human survival is based on struggle.” Castiel drags his attention from Dean to Mohinder to Sam and then back to Dean. “And yet you still instinctively look for the easy way. How can you know what you’re capable of if you never take a leap of faith?”

The look that extends between Castiel and Dean goes past comfortable and Mohinder unexpectedly feels like he is intruding on a private conversation. A quick glance at Sam reveals his own curiosity with watching them. Mohinder is grateful to not be the only one feeling left out.

“Be careful with the God card,” Dean finally says. “I may have been in Hell but that doesn’t make me part of the faithful flock.”

Dean turns to Mohinder. With a nod of his head in Castiel’s direction he says, “A scientist who’s been touched by an angel, huh? Taking that leap?”

After a thoughtful pause Mohinder replies, “As much as you I suppose.”

“Doesn’t give me a whole lot of confidence,” Dean says pointedly, folding his arms across his chest.

“Imagine how I feel,” Mohinder turns up a half grin.

Dean smirks and Sam steps up Mohinder’s right side. “So what do we do now?”

Castiel furrows his brow. “Organize. Build up. Prepare.” He eyes the metal case in Mohinder’s hand. “The version you have—is it ready?”

Mohinder tightens his grip and takes a deep breath. “You know I can’t say for certain.”

“We don’t have the luxury of extra time.”

“You want me to sign off on something that will have a drastic effect, either good or bad.” Mohinder stands tall, tipping his head back in a semblance of talking at or down to Castiel, any illusion of power worth the simplistic body language. “This version is untested on humans—,”

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” Mohinder and Sam say in matching surprise at the unexpected pronouncement from Dean.

Castiel appears unmoved with only the barest twitch of a smile playing along otherwise pursed lips.

“I’ll do it.”

“Do you know what _it _means?” Mohinder asks, edging a small step towards him.

“He knows what he’s doing.” Castiel flits his eyes between them.

“Still, I’d like to make sure.” Mohinder is insistent, offering Castiel a brief but commanding glance before searching Dean’s uncertain yet stoic visage, unable to ignore the awkwardly loud swallow and miniscule hesitation in his eyes.

“This started with me and it ends with me.” Dean raises an eyebrow at Mohinder.

“I can appreciate that.” Mohinder tries to find a common ground but knows he sounds as if he is belittling their surreal reality.

“Can you?” Dean snaps, once again antagonistic and Mohinder considers if it is out of genuine anger or frustration at the potentially insurmountable battle ahead.

Mohinder regards him inquisitively with narrowed eyes and steps back. Dean turns around and walks towards the back of the room, near the bathroom, and pauses, keeping his back to all of them. Mohinder recognizes the tension in his shoulders and the slight angling back of his head. He has seen those clenched fists before and when Dean looks over his right shoulder before turning all the way around, Mohinder’s intuition is confirmed. Dean is frustrated _yet_ resigned.

Dean stares at Mohinder and as cool as his eyes appear, flat and unsupported by telltale lines at the corners, they also seem to be asking for consideration.

“You’ve seen and done things that have brought you here, with us, right now.” Dean raises his head from a bowed position as he takes control of the room. He extends his right arm, palm facing Mohinder, and emphatically moves it up and down as he speaks. “Well so have I. What I’ve been part of—,”

Dean glances at Sam.

“What I’ve started—,”

He shifts his gaze to Castiel.

“Means I’m the one who has to end it.”

He sets his focus on Mohinder again. “You’re here because Cas says you’re part of this. But it’s still my call. Right now I’ll do whatever I have to. This thing ends now, once and for all.”

There are so many things Mohinder could say, and should, to remind them all that there is no black and white and that the pros and cons of such a venture are not absolute. Anything and everything can change on a dime and will. But Dean’s insistence, his passionate rant that he will not back down is enticing and reminds Mohinder of the greater good that he and those he cares about have valiantly, if not recklessly (and at times uselessly), fought for. He cannot fault Dean’s claim of responsibility. Still there is a familiar pain in admiring it.

Sam breaks the thick silence that overwhelms and suffocates the room. “Try it on me first.

Mohinder’s shock is reflected in Dean’s abrupt head turn and big eyes, and, interestingly, Castiel’s knowing quiet.

“No!” Dean states.

Sam does not back down, instead raising his hands at his side, palms down, in a show of restrained calm. “Hear me out.”

“No,” Dean booms. “You are not putting this easy bake science in your veins.”

“Well it’s hardly—,” Mohinder begins with irritation but the brothers pay him no attention.

“But you can do it?” Sam is incredulous.

“Damn right.” Dean is all seriousness.

“That’s crap and you know it. Let me help.”

“This is my fight. Right, Cas?” Dean casts a challenging look at the angel. “I have to finish it.”

“That’s my point,” Sam insists exasperatedly as he moves closer to Dean. “You have to finish this but we don’t know what this serum will do. Test it on me first.”

“No way, the side effects—,”

“Might not be so bad. Remember I’ve got d—,” Sam casts a furtive glance at Mohinder, the word caught on his tongue; then focuses on Dean again. “Mixed blood.”

“Or it could be worse because of that.”

“Then we call Ruby in as back up.”

The showdown comes to a brief halt. Mohinder is at a complete loss for what has transpired. Certainly he does not know what Sam means by mixed blood or why it would be of such significance, unless Sam’s blood has a noteworthy abnormality that, in itself, peaks Mohinder’s interest. It seems yet another issue between the brothers that Castiel has neglected to inform him about. Mohinder thinks this ‘need to know’ angel approach is leaving out a lot of pertinent facts. And who the hell is Ruby?

No matter what the issue, Sam’s point has made enough of a dent in Dean’s protective armor that he is momentarily speechless. Mohinder considers the validity of Sam’s argument. “It’s not a bad idea,” he mutters under his breath, relieved at the offer to test the serum first.

“Yeah it is,” Dean argues but Mohinder is already siding up to Sam.

“No, Sam’s right.” Mohinder peers up at the younger brother who looks nervous and unwavering all at once. We should test this out first and since you’re apparently the one who it ultimately has to work for, you shouldn’t be the first test subject.”

“Unbelievable,” Dean says with abject annoyance and makes his case to Castiel. “I’m not risking this with him.”

Castiel contemplates him and begins, “Free will—,”

“That’s bullshit! If I had free will you think I’d be here right now?” Dean clenches his teeth then tones mockingly for Sam’s benefit. “So let’s say you do this and it backfires. What? Ruby is going to come to your rescue?”

“Well it won’t be just Ruby.” Mohinder feels odd saying the name and claiming understanding of someone he has never met. The oddity is not just his as the others look at him strangely. “My friend will be here as well.”

When that announcement is greeted with silence Mohinder continues, “Do you really think I’d come here without watching my own back? I may be here to help you,” he raises an eyebrow at Dean, “But I’ve also learned the hard way about trust. You have someone who is willing to put you before himself. It may sound cold to you when I say let him, but it’s true. If this really is a battle, the likes of which we’ve never seen, you’re going to need all the support you can get. We are _all_ on the same side.”

“Mohinder is right,” Castiel says, infiltrating the tight circle with his words. “What we are facing is without parallel and fighting over who goes first is a waste of valuable time.”

Castiel’s face softens as he settles his gaze on Dean, though constant worry is folded into the worn lines of his skin. “I have not led you astray but still you challenge every step you’re asked to take. That may have served you well before but this is non-negotiable.”

Dean rolls his eyes angrily and grinds his teeth as if fighting back a barrage of words. Once again he puts his back to them and walks away, huffing his breathing deeply, seething from the feeling of being ganged up against. Sam gives Mohinder an apologetic closed mouth smile and casts a concerned glance at Dean, then goes to sit down on the chair by the window. With his body hunched forward and his hands clasped between his legs, he is the personification of utter exhaustion.

Taking in the tense sight of the scattered brothers Mohinder drops his head forward and closes his eyes, willing himself a moment of peace to think. The metal case is like a lead weight in his hand, the strain of which is only overtaken by the sense of Castiel coming up next to him.

Mohinder opens his eyes and Castiel quietly, but with intense deliberation says, “I warned you of the difficulties you would face.” He follows Castiel’s gaze as he turns to look at Dean and continues, just loud enough for Mohinder to hear. “You will all be tested.” He turns his attention back on Mohinder.

“You keep saying that and in theory I know you’re right but,” Mohinder glances at the brothers then adjust his stance towards Castiel, closing them off in a symbolic sphere. “We’re still people. We approach life and death very differently. It might not fit your expectations but there must be some allowance made.”

“I’ve made allowances,” Castiel interrupts.

“Not nearly enough,” Mohinder says. “You tell us to understand the severity of what lies ahead but then expect us to approach it as you do—with some sort of calculated reverence. You cannot deny him, or any of us, the right to act human.”

“No one is being denied.” Castiel pauses briefly. “The battles you have fought have been different from the one ahead. Dean knows this. You defend him without knowing what he has survived. Any leeway you insist I spare would be detrimental. He has to keep moving.”

“Or what? Surely tomorrow morning is as good as now—,”

“I do not walk into your house and lay down new rules to make myself at home.”

“Actually I think you did just that,” Mohinder quips but Castiel is still speaking.

“Do _not _use my need for you as an invitation to demand a new playing hand. There are consequences to—,”

“Insubordination? Free will?”

“Cutting off your nose to spite your face.”

Somewhere in the harsh rebuke is a threat Mohinder hears loud and clear. He has faced off with morally bankrupt dregs who worked beneath society but lined its pockets with poison. But it is Castiel’s burning stare and clipped tongue that sends shivers up his skin. Part of Mohinder is tempted to pack it in, say goodbye, and head back to New York, or better yet India. The other part of him, the curious side, the part that is an unapologetic glutton for punishment, wants to not only see this through but truly be a part of it. The problem is to stop from losing himself in the process.

“Give them tonight,” he says with a hint of uncertainty. “Once we do this, turning back will not be an option. Not without a lot more blood.”

Castiel pulls his lips into a tight line that Mohinder takes as begrudging agreement. Mohinder looks over at Sam, who is now sitting with his head in his hands, then at Dean who remains standing the furthest away. “You two have a lot to talk about. I’m in the room next door—114—if you have any questions.”

Dean looks at him blankly, if not for the irritation in the strong lines contouring his face, and walks into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Sam jumps to his feet and sheepishly smiles at Mohinder, extending his right hand. “Thank you, Dr. Suresh.”

Mohinder smiles and shakes it. “Please call me Mohinder. Dr. Suresh was my father and considering what we’re about to embark on I believe first names are in order.”

Sam nods, his smile broken between kindness and panic. “Goodnight, Mohinder.”

 

************ ********** ********** ********** ************

 

There is a slight nip in the air as Mohinder makes his way from the diner to his room. He hesitates outside the Winchesters room not sure if it is a good sign or not that he hears no yelling. Moving on to his own room he fiddles with the key as it sticks in the lock and uses his weight to shoulder the door open.

Stepping inside he notices the nightstand lamp that is spilling a sickly yellow light across the left side of the bed nearest him and closes the door behind him. After a suspicious pause he relaxes and walks over to the bed furthest from the door, gently dropping his bag to the floor. He sits down on the right side of the bed, feet on the floor, facing the front door and turns on the second nightstand lamp. He hears the bathroom door open.

“When did you get here?” Mohinder’s words are muffled by a yawn.

“Twenty minutes ago,” Peter says as he walks around the bed to face Mohinder. “How did it go?”

“How do you think?”

“Not good.” Peter quirks a lopsided grin to pass the answer off as much as a joke as the truth.

“Very perceptive.” Mohinder eyes him and stands up, rolling his head to the side in an effort to work out the aching knots that have settled in.

Peter grasps his right shoulder. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we’ll worry about it.” Dropping his hand, Peter turns to the wall that connects their room to the Winchesters.

“It’s easier said than done.” Mohinder sighs, mad that his conversation in the diner with Castiel only served to put him more on edge, on top of other things. “Take what we know and throw God, Lucifer, and a war of angels into the mix. It’s absolute madness.”

“Mmmm,” Peter mumbles and leans over the nightstand to press his left ear to the wall. Carefully he listens, wrinkling up his face at the silence that greets him.

Irritation floods Mohinder’s body at Peter’s distraction. “They’re probably asleep. Besides what would you hear through the wall?”

“You’d be surprised,” Peter muses with a smirk his way.

“Just give it a rest, it’s not like you have super-hearing!”

Mohinder’s caustic tone causes Peter to step away from the wall and stare at him in surprise. Just a quick second later realization dawns on him.

“Mohinder,” Peter says quietly, coming towards him.

Mohinder holds up his right hand and closes his eyes, disappointed with himself for letting personal feelings overwhelm him, particularly ones that have nothing to do with Peter. “I’m sorry,” Mohinder says, opening his eyes.

“No,” Peter says. “I should have—,”

“It has nothing to do with you.” Mohinder sighs and drops his shoulders under the weight of his own haunting issues. “It’s just that this place,” he uses his left hand to indicate the room, “brings up sad—,”

He snaps his mouth shut and looks at the far wall, shaking his head and pushing his tongue against the back of his top front teeth, wanting to punish himself for slipping up. He bows his head and shoves his hands into his pant pockets. “Brings up _bad_ memories.”

Peter cautiously walks by him, concern crinkled in the corners of his eyes as he passes. “I know…” His words trail off and Mohinder is certain there is more not being said.

Mohinder follows Peter’s path, stopping on the far side of the bed near the door. Peter nervously returns his gaze before looking to the floor. Mohinder takes the bait. “What?”

“Huh? Nothing.” Peter over dramatizes his response.

Mohinder knows what his refusal to drop the line of questioning will lead to but he hates when secrets cloud his friendship with Peter. It has been awhile sine they have felt the need to censor their thoughts and being on the verge of a monumentally life changing event has already frayed Mohinder’s nerves. He does not want to be second-guessing one of the few things he can count on.

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lie to me.”

Peter awkwardly says, “He could be of help.”

“No,” Mohinder says immediately.

“It’s only a suggestion. He has more powers than the rest of us and can use them all at once. He’s been of use before. He’d be—,”

“Absolutely not.” Mohinder’s unflinching response races his emotions from anger to frustration to uncertainty. “Please, Peter,” he adds more pleadingly, “I just…I can’t hear this from you right now.”

Mohinder sits on the side of the bed and kicks his shoes off. After a couple of deep breaths he turns off the one lamp and slides up on the bed, pulling his legs up to lie down. He angles his right arm up and behind his head while resting his left one on his chest. Focusing on the ceiling, stubbornness stopping him from behaving more maturely, he is all too conscious of the rise and fall of his left hand and Peter sitting on the other bed.

Finally Mohinder swallows his pride. “What about the others?”

Peter turns in his seat to address him. “Nathan’s on board. So are Noah and Claire. Micah should be good and Arif and Shiri are just waiting for the word.”

“Good.” Mohinder breaks away from Peter’s penetrating gaze then returns it. “Thank you…for all your help.”

Peter’s smile is small but authentic. He stretches out across the bed and turns off the other lamp, then lies back. The room goes from pitch black to hazy shapes and shadows as Mohinder’s eyes adjust.

“I have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow,” Mohinder finds the darkened quiet of the room worthy of the confession. “It could be the biggest mistake.”

“The biggest?” Peter asks with amused sarcasm.

Mohinder barely contains the smile that instinctively turns up the corners of his lips. “One of the biggest,” he clarifies in a way that asks, ‘is that better?’

Nothing is said for a few seconds and just as Mohinder thinks he has dozed off he hears Peter shift on his bed, presumably to look his way. “I believe you’re doing the right thing.”

“Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

“How about if you’re wrong you can blame me?”

Mohinder scoffs. “I could live with that. If this whole thing implodes spectacularly I’ll stay it was your fault for not stopping me.”

Turning his head he kind of meets Peter’s watchful gaze. It is hard to tell with how little he can see. “It’s a deal,” Peter says and shifts again on the bed, closing his eyes.

Mohinder rolls onto his side, putting his back to Peter. Shutting his eyes he beckons sleep to come despite how flushed his body is with every neuron and nerve ending sparked for the rush of tomorrow. If tonight is a brief interlude of peace, Mohinder wants to draw out every single second.

The future teeters on the head of a pin.

 


End file.
